


Never Wanted to Be

by Sarita1046



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adult Catra but still tragic, Angry Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom!SW, Catra Has Issues (She-Ra), Catra venting, Consensual Sex, F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarita1046/pseuds/Sarita1046
Summary: “Shadow Weaver left me...for you.”Hypothetical missing scene prior to Catra bringing Shadow Weaver her Sorcerer's Guild badge in the Horde's prison.
Relationships: Adora & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Catra & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Catra/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Never Wanted to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaya_Ayame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaya_Ayame/gifts).



Catra has resolved to never obey another request from Shadow Weaver.

Ever since the sorceress’s imprisonment, the jittery trepidation that once hovered in the back of her mind at the mere possibility the wretched wraith could be lurking around every corner only to well up out of thin air and back her into a wall has fizzled into a somehow even more infuriating gnaw—the desire, no…the _need_ to keep visiting Shadow Weaver in her dank cell.

It doesn’t matter how much Scorpia’s seemingly endless compliments tempt her like a warm embrace just out of reach – Catra has failed the person who raised her, meaning any of the praise given her by this girl she’s only just met holds pretty much no weight. She’s grown up overhearing various other members of the Horde who hadn’t been recruited until later in life talking about their families. Siblings and fathers and mothers. Even aunts and uncles, whatever those were. 

It didn’t take long before Catra, Adora, Lonnie…a lot of the members recruited as infants realized they didn’t really have anything close to a _normal_ family. This was an army, after all. Not a household. 

But that witch can’t sneak up on her anymore. She is set to rot in their dungeon. And for some reason, the inner restlessness that has frayed Catra’s nerves ever since Adora abandoned her for that prissy Rebellion chooses that moment to surge until she lashes out at no one, dragging her nails across the closest stone wall with a deafening screech. 

Shadow Weaver remains obsessed with Adora. Always Adora – Catra only ever avoided the sorceress’s wrath when precious Adora demanded it. She knows she should be glad to be relieved of them all and finally teaming up with Hordak. 

So, why does that damn vibration simmering in her blood demand she keep visiting Shadow Weaver? As much as she wants to rip out her own hair to admit it, her scattered dreams have evolved into random daydreams of the sorceress, vacillating between fear and…something else.

All at once, the apprehension over every slithering shadow has begun to morph into a heat that burns her cheeks when she thinks of those floating ebony locks…

The way she moves, hovering most days and strutting around whenever training calls her away from the Black Garnet long enough for her to weaken from the lack of fix. Pathetic creature.

Yet somehow, the warmth at the pit of Catra’s belly has the Horde’s Second in Command questioning which of them is the weak one. 

With a final hiss to swallow the lump in her throat at the memory of those tepid fingers stroking her ear, Catra tosses the Sorcerer’s Guild badge beneath the slop she haphazardly pours onto the plates strewn across the meal tray. She honestly has to wonder how idiotic and childlike she must seem, answering to Shadow Weaver’s every whim—

Quelling a shout of frustration, Catra decides to just leave the tray. She needs to see Shadow Weaver again on her own terms – and it won’t be to deliver the Guild badge. Not yet. 

The musty odor of the prison fills her nose the moment she rounds the corner, citrine-sapphire gaze locking onto the dark figure sitting against the concrete wall. For perhaps the first time, she doesn’t flinch when that stark white gaze turns to greet her.

“I told you I wanted to rest.”

Catra almost wants to vomit at how that heat roils in her gut at that deep, graceful voice, drowning out the familiar rise of her hackles as she prepares a retort. 

Before she even has time to consider stopping herself, the words tumble from her lips. “You’re done making demands. This isn’t about you anymore. It’s time you apologized for what you’ve done.”

The way that maroon mask cocks to the side makes her want to smash something to smithereens against the floor. 

“You want me to apologize…” the sorceress begins, that soft lilt already adopting a mocking tone, “for trying my very best to make you strong? For keeping a roof over your head when Adora found you as a stray kitten nearly destroyed by a target practice cannon? For sitting up with your whimpering all night long after the other children had fallen asleep? Come now, Catra…does that really make any sense?”

“We would have turned out plenty strong!” Catra’s voice rises, as she approaches the neon green tether of Shadow Weaver’s magic-blocking binds. “ _I_ would have still been a great soldier without all of the magic bullying and intimidation.”

“And yet here you stand, Second in Command of the Horde. Happy to gloat your winning Hordak’s favor and throw it all back in my face? I thought we’d made up—”

Indignation bubbles forth, as Catra practically shouts, “You never once told me you were proud of me!”

A stretch of silence ensues, and Catra wants to shout at the inane buzzing emanating from those neon cuffs. 

“If it’s a mother’s coddling you’ve been looking for,” Shadow Weaver begins, voice gentle and smooth amidst Catra’s outburst, “I’m not your mother, Catra. I’ve never wanted to be.”

Despite her blurred vision, Catra still flinches at the unbidden tears flooding down her cheeks. Less at the sorceress’s words and more at how they absolve the unspeakable desire that has been festering within her for moons know how long. 

Catra has never had parents. She’s never had a _family_. This creature before her is a monster…a horrifying, infuriating mess of existence. And Catra has never felt more agony than what she experiences in beholding her beauty.

And she now has every right to entertain these thoughts. This woman isn’t her family, and no one is here to stop the fury that rages forth.

The moment Catra falls into Shadow Weaver, she considers for a split second the possibility that the witch will repel her by magic – but, oh wait. 

When icy fingers grip her wrists, Catra sidles up until her mouth brushes the sorceress’s ear. “I already told you I know how your tactics work. We both know without magic, I can easily take you.”

“Is that what you want, Catra?” Moons, how she both loves and _hates_ the way her name rolls off that tongue. “For me to be taken? To grab back the power to which you feel entitled?”

“Look who’s talking,” Catra snickers in that chuckle that’s all her own – a trait that the witch who never laughs can’t take credit for teaching her. “Entitlement is your whole game. When you’re really…”

Acting on pure instinct, she grasps a supple thigh through that deep rose fabric, adrenaline coursing through her veins— “just a spoiled, bitter old witch.”

For whatever reason, Shadow Weaver’s grip has loosened on both of Catra’s wrists, as she swears she can feel a tremor pass through the older woman. Solid flesh, blood, bone...no more hiding behind those shadows.

“I can’t say I blame you,” that snide tone remarks, wavering just enough for Catra’s keen ears to detect. “Pouncing while I’m down. You may make me proud yet.”

Suddenly needing to regain the height advantage and avoid unpleasant memories, Catra rises to her feet, not missing how the claws of her right hand nearly tear through the material of Shadow Weaver’s dress at the breast. Damn, the old mage looks good on her knees...

Now positive she can hear the older woman’s breathing, Catra barely suppresses a yelp, as the sorceress hooks her fingers in Catra’s waistband and pulls her forward. Not flailing or even losing her balance as she’s sure Adora would have, Catra fails at quelling the sharp inhale that escapes her at the soft brush of fingertips against the apex of her thighs.

“Is this what you need right now?” Those words echo in her head, as fresh tears prick at her eyes.

Already, she can feel the promise of something indescribable and just out of reach without further touches from this woman on the floor before her.

No – she will _not_ lose control now. As much as the thought of Shadow Weaver lavishing Adora with such treatment has her seething with equal parts rage, jealousy and despair. “It’s Adora you want…”

At that, she can almost swear Shadow Weaver does snigger. “Adora wouldn’t tremble at my touch the way you do.”

Catra blinks away tears of humiliation, as her anger returns with a vengeance. “Too bad you’ll never get to find out.”

Acting with the swiftness she knows to be the envy of the majority of the Horde, Catra shoves Shadow Weaver back against the wall. Narrowly avoiding the back of her head colliding with concrete, the sorceress regards her once again with those bright white sockets, only slightly narrowed. 

“Always lashing out. That you learned from me.”

“Look at that…” Catra drawls, as she gives in at last to the burning need in her core. “She finally takes some responsibility.”

Leaning over just enough to slam the sorceress’s wrists against the stone wall, Catra prepares to fight off more resistance, as she drives a knee between Shadow Weaver’s thighs to keep her pinned. Strangely, rather than resist, the witch simply buries one hand in Catra’s mane.

Not even bothering to hide her smirk, Catra realizes she’s never allowed herself enough credit for that rough tongue of hers. And right now, she’s not sure whether she wants the sorceress to gasp with pleasure or writhe in agony - so long as it’s by _Catra’s_ hand and no one else’s.

Tearing at the inner layers of Shadow Weaver’s dress, Catra practically rips up the undergarments with a precision only years of weapons training combined with natural agility can manage. 

Shadow Weaver barely has time to gasp before Catra dives between grey thighs, regretting only the mewl of pleasure rather than the cry of pain as her barbed tongue makes contact with the bundle of nerves the younger woman has only discovered on herself. 

Despite her own throbbing center, Catra nearly moans into the triangle of coarse black hair tickling her nose, frustration still burning over that need to feel appreciated by this woman. One can always count on someone like Shadow Weaver to get off on pain.

Spurred on by the heady scent that assaults her senses, Catra bites back her own whimper at the folds that quiver against her chin, too far gone to even think about shame at the way her mouth waters. Eyes taking in the proximity of that surprisingly taut flesh, she lets her gaze linger on the trailing scars that stop just before reaching the delectable jewel that graces her lips.

Beneath her, the witch’s chest and belly heave with her poorly masked gasps, as Catra keeps the mage’s thighs restrained, that adept tongue stroking Shadow Weaver from clit to glistening slit.

In fact, no more than mere seconds have likely passed before that desperate moan dissolves into a keening whimper, as the sorceress’s entire body quakes around Catra’s form.

Neither the sight of sticky black arousal on the witch’s inner thighs nor the bizarrely sweet taste of that same nectar on her lips and tongue can deter Catra’s next words as she glances up into that mask to smirk at false eyes narrowed into slits.

“Who’s trembling now?”

At the stinging grip to her scalp, Catra realizes she’s been idly grinding against the sorceress’s knee, claws kneading the gown that flows around them like a dark halo as she registers a firm, encouraging hand cupping her backside. As she ruts harder at that delicious angle, the combined pleasure between her legs coupled with the pain from Shadow Weaver’s grasp sends Catra over the edge in a wave of delicious spams that wrack her from belly to toes. Too late, she realizes the hoarse whine that resounds around the dungeon comes from her own lips.

As soon as Shadow Weaver’s fingers loosen against her scalp, Catra begins to rise – when the sorceress pulls her against her chest in the most unexpected gesture the younger woman thinks she has ever experienced. 

“You stayed, Catra.” That soft tone fills the shadows around them like a lullaby. “You cannot imagine how much that means to me.”

With a shaky inhale, Catra soon realizes no more tears remain to fall. For the first time since Adora left, she lets herself doze in the warm embrace of someone she could never quite call her family. Only Adora doesn’t matter here - what she has now is special, shared between Catra and the woman who raised her.

Gentle, finally tangible fingers stroke her hair, as a steady heartbeat soothes her, and Catra has to wonder if this is what _home_ feels like. Surely, without that influence of dark magic, things will finally be better - softer - between them.

She will get Shadow Weaver her badge. In that moment, she would give the sorceress her very breath.

For the first time, she dares to let herself consider the possibility that no one else will leave her.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that...hurt. I always felt that her fixation on Adora had more to do with Shadow Weaver leaving than anything else. I mean, it literally drove her to destroy reality...
> 
> Catra is so cathartic to write, other writers here set the bar very high, so I strove to do her justice! Poor kitten. <3


End file.
